


Down Time

by mXrtis



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: American Sign Language, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Project Freelancer, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:09:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5680876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mXrtis/pseuds/mXrtis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm in RVB hell and I've also been on a writing kick. This is basically a little glimpse at what goes on during down time for Freelancer agents. It's fluffy and sad-ish. Sign language translations will be at the end.<br/>-<br/>Washington swiped his security card outside of Maine’s door; Maine had given him special clearance into his dorm room ages ago, and Wash never hesitated to use it. He shut the door and leaned back against it, sighing hard. Maine looked up from the debriefing packet he had pulled up on his data pad and gave a slight smile. He held his right palm flat and pulled it towards his stomach. Then he brought his fingers to a point and tapped it by the corner of his lips and again, up by his cheek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Time

Washington swiped his security card outside of Maine’s door; Maine had given him special clearance into his dorm room ages ago, and Wash never hesitated to use it. He shut the door and leaned back against it, sighing hard. Maine looked up from the debriefing packet he had pulled up on his data pad and gave a slight smile. He held his right palm flat and pulled it towards his stomach. Then he brought his fingers to a point and tapped it by the corner of his lips and again, up by his cheek.

“I’m goddamn exhausted.” Wash stepped away from the door and stretched with a groan. He crossed his arms and grabbed onto the seam of his shirt, then pulled it up over his head. He dropped the shirt to the ground and toed off his running shoes. His Project Freelancer sweatpants hung low on his hips, showing a scar from a bullet wound on his lower left abdomen. His hair was wet from a post-training shower. A freshly bandaged wound stood out on his arm, the bandage was a striking white to the black of his binder.

Maine held up a hand in a fist, with the index finger forming a hook, he moved this to the right and down and offered a questioning look.

“No, Carolina. She’s pushing herself as hard as she can…”

He walked over to Maine’s twin bed and flopped down on it. Maine stood up from his desk and sat down next to him. Wash moved over, pressing his side against the wall, and Maine laid next to him with his right arm dangling off the side. Wash held his arms over his head and yawned. Maine traced the tail end of a jagged scar up to where it disappeared under Wash’s binder. Wash shuddered under the coolness of Maine’s fingers and tried not to let on exactly how much it tickled. 

“I’m gonna go to sleep…” Wash yawned again, arching his back, “Wake me up before our training session.” Maine nodded and threaded his fingers with the man next to him. He was out cold in less than ten minutes. Maine closed his eyes as well, debriefing could wait until later.

-

Maine woke to the sound of Wash jerking awake; he yanked his hand free from Maine’s and leaned forward shaking. He heaved and shook as silently as he could manage. Maine sat up slowly. Wash let out a choking sort of noise; a watery, warbling sob. 

“S-shit Maine.” he kneaded his palms into his eyelids, “I shouldn’t be like this! I should be used to this by now.” Maine placed a hand on his shoulder.

Wash wiped his nose on his hands, “It’s just the gunshots, I can hear them everywhere I go. All those people we’ve killed. All those people who’ve tried to kill us.” Maine drew circles on the skin of Wash’s shoulder.

“I signed up to help people!” his voice cracked, “I wasn’t going to change the world or anything but I was gonna help stop the war!” 

Maine shifted farther onto the bed and Wash scooted up to sit between his legs. Maine pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. Wash tucked his head under Maine’s chin; he pressed his damp hair flush with the trail of puckered, shreded looking scar tissue. Maine rocked them both, forward and backward, with a controlled rhythmic pace. Maine wrapped his arms around Washington’s waist and Wash covered Maine’s hands with his own.

“I think this program is killing me, Maine, I really do…” his voice thick with tears. Maine said ‘You’re okay,’ and ‘I love you’ even though all that came out was a deep rumbling noise that Wash could feel in his bones. Sometimes, that was enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> > He held his right palm flat and pulled it towards his stomach. Then he brought his fingers to a point and tapped it by the corner of his lips and again, up by his cheek.
> 
> Welcome home.
>
>> Maine held up a hand in a fist, with the index finger forming a hook, he moved this to the right and down and offered a questioning look.
> 
> Texas?


End file.
